The Distant Joke
The cold iron of the Whispering Coin pressed against Aldric’s sternum, a weight that felt less like metal and more like a frozen organ, pulsing with a faint, rhythmic chill that he had learned to ignore over the last decade of service. He held the coin in his palm, turning it over and over, watching the surface catch the dim light of the wagon before sliding it back into the leather pouch at...
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